Pavlov...

Yesterday was fun. Foot Foot continued to be a nut case, delving the depths of her stalking techniques files for new and interesting ways to try to get around Didgeridoo Boy, Totsi the Dog, and me. Circling the living room and parading around the breakfast bar while growling having failed, she took to attempts at high stealth mode. Seeing a somewhat chubby calico cat try to look fierce while thinking she is moving without making a sound is amusing, but after about seventy two instances of her stalking past the same place, we got tired of it. We decided the situation called for this:

"The Safety Collar" - you get what I'm getting, right?

And that, darlings, is the loudest collar I have ever laid eyes or ears upon. While at the grocery store, the idea struck me that Foot Foot's old collar wasn't at all what we needed. Sure, it has a bell, but it's a wimpy little bell that tinkles gently as precious princess pads and minces all about the house like the bastion of ideal kitty behavior she is. Foot Foot is precious, I'll give her that, but she's not doing much padding or mincing in a princess fashion of late, and she's sure as hell not living up to anything even remotely resembling said bastion of ideal kitty behavior. What we needed, I realized, was an alarm so we know when Foot Foot is in motion and how far away she is. If she so much as takes one step, she jingles, and audibly. If she is to be a psychopath, she will be a musical psychopath.

The collar didn't go down well at first. Once Didge put it on her, she dashed out to the dining room (jingling fit to bust), hopped on one of the chairs in the seating area, and began to quite deliberately claw it while looking at me. I told her to stop, she didn't. I clapped my hands at her, she did it harder. I finally raised my hands like claws and hissed, pulling what must have looked a deadly imitation of *the* alien, and that did it. Down she hopped, and off she went through the living room and down the hall, scooting and making merry music right up the stairs. Didgeridoo Boy told me there is something wrong with me mentally. (Sometimes effectively disciplining cats takes acting crazy.) After festively pacing around on few attempted patrols, she konked out on her favorite cushion and slept all the way through this morning.

As I'm writing, she's upstairs, hiding after having been told hunting for Jupiter Jones is not in her cards again, just like yesterday morning. Foot Foot is one who fully dedicates herself to her missions, so I'm by no means naive enough to think a loud bell on her collar will serve as a deterrent. Like I said - it's an alarm; the second she jingles, Totsi the Dog trots to a strategic position, Didge stops what he's doing and follows the dog, and I go for the Evil Kitty spray bottle. Every single time, without fail, and almost before we've actually heard it - if we hear it, we will go. Holy hell.

Who's training who in this house? I love a good realization with my coffee.